Heartless
by The Leaf 180
Summary: Shizuo develops an eating disorder. As his problem grows, he struggles to hide the evidence from concerned friends and family. It takes an arrogant, yet cunning classmate to help him open his eyes to the damage that he has done. High school, Izuo
1. Chapter 1

**Based off of a prompt from drrrkinkmeme~**

**Raijin era; ****Shizuo finally finds something he can control. ****It gets so bad that he faints at school, and someone (preferably Izaya, because that would be really interesting) confronts him about it. ****Bonus for lots of comfort and details on how Shizuo manages to hide it from his family and friends for so long. ****(Also if it is Izaya, PLEASE Izuo and not Shizaya.)**

**Please give my OC a chance. He won't appear in future chapters and I needed him for the plot. Please and thank you~ I'll continue this if I get enough reveiws...**

* * *

_"I want to distance myself from others, but I can't stand being alone. That's why I unconsciously seek attachment to others." –Shizuo Heiwajima_

* * *

Shizuo finally has something that he can control.

It wasn't a problem at first, nothing ever was in the beginning, it was just something he did if he didn't have time to eat. It was a minor occurrence, really. No big deal.

It wasn't like he cared about his image, because he didn't. It wasn't because he was trying for popularity, because he has failed in that department. It wasn't because he was trying to be accepted by society, because they wouldn't accept him no matter what he looked like. It wasn't because he wanted to impress anyone; it wasn't because he viewed himself as fat, because he wasn't.

No, it was simply because Shizuo wanted some control in his life. He had fiery anger, blazing strength along with an explosive temper that only led to pain and destruction and terror no matter what he did or how hard he tried to stop it.

He had an awkward, almost anti-social disposition that he couldn't shake off because he liked to be alone and didn't want to be. If he kept people at an arms-length then there would be less of a chance of hurting them, but it didn't matter, because people gave him a wide berth anyway.

He didn't want to be alone because he wanted someone to give him a chance and try to see the kinder side of him that he knew was there and he bet Kasuka did too, but no one would see because no one dared approach him anyway.

He wants someone to see right through him and then again doesn't because not even he knows what they'll find. Some things are better left hidden. He doesn't want company and yet hates to be alone.

Contradicting, he knows. He doesn't know what to do about it though, so he'll leave it be.

* * *

If anyone ever asked when it started, he would have told them about a visit to his aunt's house, and a talk with his older cousin.

His aunt was a jocular woman, a round, pudgy face with rosy cheeks and skin that sagged. Old skin with an unhealthy yellow hue, clinging against high cheekbones and riddled with wrinkles.

Beady eyes too far together, too caked with blue make-up that overwhelmed her whole face. She was short and stocky, plump and frumpy and always smelt like too much perfume and cats. Shizuo didn't like her, but it didn't matter, because his aunt didn't like him either.

She did take a liking to Kasuka, however, and spent most of her time gushing over him with only so much as a nod to the rest of her family. Kasuka didn't mind, in fact he embraced it, from what Shizuo could tell. He asked her questions and tried to show an interest in what she was saying as she fawned over him.

In retrospect, it was only out of courtesy and the sympathy Kasuka took on her because the rest of the family viewed her as a nuisance. He didn't want to hurt her feelings; all he really did on visits was read and play with some of his aunt's cats.

She was a single parent to her son, Hakoda, a senior in high school. He was short like her mother, with a stubborn streak and strong convictions, accompanied with dark unruly hair and a temper on par with Shizuo's minus the super-human strength, of course.

Hakoda had three piercings on each ear, a tattoo of a dragon the winded up his face despite his mother's wishes and threats to have it removed. His face was constantly in an ever-present scowl, his thin lips puckered into a sour pout every moment of every day.

He was Shizuo's ally when he had to take the torturous trips to his least favorite aunt's house. They would go for walks before dinner, to get out of the stuffy house. It was then things would change.

"So how's school?" Hakoda would always ask, though a mouthful of smoke and cigarettes, not bothering to look at Shizuo.

"Fine." He would always answer, cautiously lighting up a cigarette of his own.

He had been against smoking at first, disliking how the smoke entered his lungs and nose and made him cough, disliked the way his mouth tasted after, disliked the guilt squirming in his stomach because he knew that it was wrong but did nothing to quit.

He's gone to health class; he's endured the lectures year after year of the horrors of smoking and it's disturbing effects on the human body. But that didn't stop him from submitting to the peer pressure and trying it. And his school was right, it did taste horrible, but it grew on him, and eventually it was comforting, desirable.

On the day that changed things though, Hakoda had greeted him with a sharp jab in the stomach. "Getting a bit flabby there huh?" he joked, though there was no laughter in his eyes.

"Um… no." Shizuo mumbled in confusion. He exercised daily, tossing street lamps and people around on a daily basis. He was in shape. He was fine. But he was a bit miffed by his cousin's words.

"Geez I'm kidding," Hakoda drawled, "Lighten up a little."

Shizuo gave a gruff grunt in answer, not making eye contact. It wasn't that his senpai's words irritated him, because he was used to the kind of this from the hotheaded elder, but he had never had to handle any inquiry about his weight. He was in shape. He was fine.

They walked in silence after that, until Shizuo could not take silence any longer. "What did you mean by that?" He wondered out loud.

"Ah, nothing, It just an experiment that I've been trying…"

"And what's that?" Shizuo queried, intrigued but also sickened as he guessed what Hakoda was going to say a heartbeat before he said it.

"I've just been skipping a meal here and there, no big deal." He sounded nonchalant about it, though his eyes were still dark and his smirk seemed forced.

Hakoda had always been on the heavy side, due to his mother's fatty cooking and his own lazy attitude; he had always been a porky kid. Shizuo didn't consider him obese; it was more like a layer of fat, not concentrated on one area. It didn't matter to him anyway.

"But why?" He asked again. "You've never cared about your weight before."

"Come _on_, isn't it obvious?" When Shizuo didn't reply he extended, exasperated. "Girls like the skinnier guys, hell, everyone likes skinnier guys." He stated it like it was obvious, and Shizuo pretended not to look surprised because things like that were never an issue for him.

He didn't care what he looked like because he knew that he never had any hope in love to begin with. Maybe it was different for_ normal_ teenagers. Shizuo felt a sharp pang as he was yet again reminded of how abnormal he was. He shoved it aside and tried to pay attention to his senpai's words.

"-Besides, my mother's foods are loaded with calories." Hakoda continued, oblivious to Shizuo's lack of attention

Shizuo fixed him with a pointed stare, "Why not start exercising? Girls don't like boney guys either, and isn't anorexia for insecure girls?"

Hakoda snorted. "Anorexia? Who said anything about that?"

Shizuo swept his gaze away, embarrassed that he had assumed, for all he knew about the subject, Hakoda could be right and a slimmer look would be less intimidating than a mountain of muscles atop his shoulders. Maybe he would seem less menacing if he wasn't quite so tall and broad and…terribly strong.

They had arrived at the house before Shizuo could think of a witty response, and from the sour look on Hakoda's face, he hadn't wanted to arrive so soon either. The boy was glaring distastefully at his home, his face contorted into a frown.

"Want to take another round around the block?" Hakoda offered, "I'd rather be late for dinner."

Shizuo writhed inwardly under the heated glare of his elder, not wanting to seem like a coward, he ignored his instinct telling him that it was a bad idea. But he couldn't refuse, Hakoda was the only friend he had beside Shinra, and he knew that if not for the fact that they were family, he would probably never get a chance to hang out with the older boy. They only saw each other once or twice a year, after all. And could another few minutes outside really do any harm?

"We can say we lost track of the time," his cousin pressed.

Shizuo said nothing, willing himself to walk away and do the right thing, and stay put in his place and trust the older boy's judgment.

"Well, I know how much you like my mom's cooking," Hakoda sighed dramatically, his eyes gaining a devious glint as he added. "Tubby."

Shizuo bit back a snarl of _I'm not tubby!_ And complied, shrugging. He turned on his heels and led the way around the corner and farther away from where they should be, trying to appear indifferent.

He knew he was not overweight, but he did not know why his elder's words stung so much. He's never been sensitive about his weight before. It never came up in conversation.

In hindsight, it was probably because he was timid teenager himself, desperate for some sort of approval and acceptance from his peers, in which the only one who came close to fitting in that category was his cousin. He'd have to compromise

When the duo returned, it was to a red-faced aunt and anxious parents for Shizuo. His aunt stood in the doorway with hands on her hips, portly face flushed with frustration.

"Where have you been?" She barked as they neared, Shizuo trying not to wince under her coercing glare and his parent's disappointed gaze.

Guilt and hunger stirred in the pit of his stomach, it's cold tendrils clawing at his insides. He hated to dishearten them, especially after all that they did for him and continued to show affection even after they learned of his monstrous strength.

Hakoda marched up to his mother, as Shizuo had the sense to shy away from her rage. He got right in her face as Shizuo inwardly cringed, from his safe viewpoint at the bottom of the porch step. He could not hear which words were being exchanged, only that if he thought that his aunt's face was red before, that was nothing compared to now.

She was livid, her meaty fists clenches and her eyebrows falling into the age lines that came with parenthood, her face reddened until it was a dark rosy scarlet, her small eyes squinted as she tried to retaliate.

He spotted his father in a similar state of rage after the blatant show of disrespect, and Shizuo figured that anger must run in the family. Shizuo's mother had widened eyes, but her face was hardened, remaining the usual tint, her thin hands covering Kasuka's ears, who of which seemed unbothered by the drastic shift of mood in the now chilling atmosphere. Shizuo stared at the ground as Hakoda finished his proclamation with a proud spit.

"You…" His aunt was trembling in fury, "You go to your room!"

He silently slipped past her silently, and Shizuo didn't need to see him to know that he had a wry sneer on his lips.

"And no dinner for you!" his aunt roared after him, her anger not yet spent. Shizuo held an underlying suspicion that she would lose her temper the moment her brother and his family set foot outside her property.

But she tried to maintain her composure under the watchful eye of the Kasuka, the minor in the room and the boy she saw as precious, not wanting him to see her like this.

Shizuo knew that going without dinner was not a punishment in all for his older cousin, and he realized in shock that that had been the goal that the boy had been striving for all the while. It did not bother him to the slightest that Shizuo would also be reprimanded for his actions, for he held half of the blame.

"We should really be going." He heard her mother say, right on cue as he wearily climbed the steps, his head bowed in submission, not meeting his family's accusing gaze. His father stiffly handed him his coat, and he shrugged it on, his face ashamed and his eyes narrowed.

Shizuo heard his mother thank his aunt for the meal softly through the icy ambiance as her family dutifully filed into the car. They said nothing about the previous event, though Shizuo could hear his parents conversing in hushed tones from the front seat.

He paid them no heed, and opted to gaze at the dark mounds of houses and shrubs as they flashed by in the night. Hakoda's words rang in his head like a mantra.

_Tubby_

_Getting a bit flabby there_

He snorted inaudibly. Of course not. It was preposterous, but he could not deny that it were those poisonous words that rang in his head all through the night, words that changed his future-for the worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ahaha, sorry for the late update. School has been hectic, and I've been loaded with all these tests and projects and homework, therefore pushing fanfiction farther and farther down the list of essentials. I'll rescue it and redeem its place at the top of the before it fades into oblivion, however.**

* * *

Shizuo opened his eyes blearily as the door opened just a crack and shed a ray of light on the shadows of his room. There were approximately three heartbeats in the blissful cloud of the in-between of sleep and awake, before hunger assaulted him, drilling into the pit of his stomach.

He's used to the feeling of hunger; it was his constant companion, always swelling in his abdomen, hollowing out his insides constantly. It was the first thing he felt in the morning, the first one to greet him, and the last thing he felt at night, kicking and keeping him awake until the bright lights of dawn stung his eyes, or exhaustion closed his eyelids.

The blank eyes of his brother poked through, as if to check if it was safe and the monster had not awoken.

"Brother…?" Kasuka tried cautiously, taking a step inside the room that they shared. "Are you awake?"

Shizuo sat up, his hair disheveled and his eyes blurred with sleep. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm as he noticed Kasuka, standing in the doorway. The younger boy took it as a good sign, and adventured closer to the bed where his older brother lay, looping around mounds of clothes as he went.

"Yeah." Shizuo mumbled, his stomach twisting and shrinking with the dull ache of hunger that he had grown accustomed to. He had successfully gone three days since his visit to his aunt's without unnecessary food, eating only the bare minimum to curb his yearning.

He hadn't realized just how much food he had been consuming just on whim, sweets and chips, eating just because he had nothing to do, eating because it was there, eating and eating and eating…

No wonder his cousin had pointed out a problem, and besides, with all the exercising he did, he'd soon be in shape. Then he could lose this… whatever it was. It wasn't a problem, and he wasn't going to let it go long enough to become a habit… just an experiment. Yes, that's what it was. Just something new that he was trying to see what happened. No big deal.

He had been sleeping late, so he could miss breakfast, and since his parents worked during the day on the weekend, he could lie and say he already ate lunch. They would believe him. He was an honest kid.

They trusted him, they never had a reason not to, and he was responsible enough to take care of himself. On school days, he would take a meager lunch, throwing most of it in the garbage, and if he had to cave in, he would eat an apple, ignoring the guilt he felt.

He couldn't avoid dinner, so he sat and had the smallest proportions of all of the necessities, and only one serving. His mother was one of strong convictions, firmly believing of family values and the importance of coming together at the end of the day to share a meal.

He was sure to drink water before and during his meal in order to feel and appear fuller, and he played all the classics of a kid trying to get out of eating his vegetables, up his sleeve, in the napkin, on the floor. He'd take the last mouthful of food and hide it in his mouth, then spit it out in the bathroom garbage.

He was already beginning to notice change occurring. When he inspected himself in the mirror, he could see a pale, gaunt face, but he tried not to dwell on it. He felt lighter, he appeared smaller, and no one had even begun to suspect a thing. So far so good.

He also enjoyed the small sense of control he felt when he choose what to eat and when and where and why and how. It made him feel in control, as small as it may be. He told himself, that because it was an issue so small that it wasn't even an issue yet, and it wouldn't be a problem, it would go unnoticed.

It would be his secret.

Kasuka clambered onto his bed, ungracefully floundering over the form of his older brother. He balanced on the edge of the bed, and Shizuo could feel gravity unsuccessfully trying to roll him towards the dip in the bed. Kasuka drew the blinds, both brothers squinting at the new addition of the light.

His younger brother hopped off his bed, and Shizuo's stomach groaned at the sudden movement. Kasuka crossed their room, not facing Shizuo as he spoke, choosing instead to rummage through his drawers.

"You missed breakfast again." The stoic boy informed him, gathering his clothes for the day at the crook of his arm, turning to face Shizuo as he advanced towards the door.

"I know." Shizuo muttered, rising from his bed and stumbling over to his dresser, hunger whining and complaining loudly as tugged open drawer of his own. He shifted his hand through his hair, not yet fully awake.

"Do you feel ill?" Kasuka's voice sounded from behind him, "You haven't been eating…"

Shizuo knew his brother well enough to hear the curious note in his tone and chose to ignore the query, alternating for tugging open a drawer to find a clean school uniform. He pulled his wrinkled T-shirt over his head, wincing inwardly as he remembered how he had been thinning, and how he had been trying to hide the evidence for as long as he could.

Cursing under his breath at his mistake, he hurried to button his shirt, hoping that his brother had been too preoccupied with to notice. The alarm he could feel sparking from his brother proving his theory incorrect.

"I'm fine." He told Kasuka, hoping that he sounded convincing despite the lie.

It did not prevent his brother from rushing to his side. Shizuo knew that Kasuka could see right through his unconvincing fib, but that did not prevent him from hurriedly trying to prove otherwise. He felt a gentle, hesitant finger lifted the bottom of his thin white shirt and prodded his lower back.

He shoved back the urge to recoil as the cold finger of his brother found his spine, rubbing a knobby disk. Shizuo winced as he stepped out of range, uncomfortable with Kasuka's scrutiny.

The boy opened his mouth to speak, but Shizuo cut him off. "It's nothing." He assured him, his head turning sideways to catch his brother in his view.

He gave a crooked grin and Kasuka shifted his gaze in response, not accepting his answer but not knowing enough to press the issue further. His brother left without a sound, closing the door softly behind him, and Shizuo heaved a sigh of relief that his secret was safe, for now.

* * *

He was soon out the door with his younger brother in tow, waving off his mother's cheery calls of "Have a good day you two!" and proceeded to the bus stop. Most kids had the privilege to walk to school, but Shizuo's apartment complex was on the farther side of the city, and no one dared offer a ride to him in fear of his rage, not knowing what would set him off.

Shizuo wasn't sure if he was old enough to drive, or have a learner's permit, because anywhere he wanted to go was within walking distance. He didn't want to get a car or license for other reasons being that he was slightly afraid of road rage taking over and getting him in trouble with people who have not heard enough of his fearsome strength to stay away.

He also did not want his parents to spend their hard-earned money on a car for him that he would surely destroy and then would have to face their ashamed glances. He also worried about and the frustration of being stuck in traffic and how much insurance would cover. Shizuo and a car was a disaster waiting to happen, so he put it off as long as he could.

"Brother." Kasuka caught his attention, breaking Shizuo out of his thoughts.

Shizuo faced him, granting him his full attention as they passed a bakery that Shizuo knew very well. He did not look inside. Taking his silence as a good thing, Kasuka continued in monotone.

"Why aren't you eating?" Kasuka asked, not looking interested in the subject to the slightest, but Shizuo knew his brother well enough to see the telltale signs of worry on his impassive face.

"I'm not hungry." Shizuo said curtly, leaving no room for argument or further discussion, he quickened his pace to be a step ahead of Kasuka, but the boy refused to let this go as he caught up to Shizuo, taking wide strides until their gait was matched step by step.

"Why?"

"Don't worry about it." Shizuo insisted, looking straight ahead, "It's nothing. Not a problem. What gave you that idea?"

"I didn't say anything."

Shizuo grimaced as he realized his mistake, and then there was that split second when he realized that everything was going downhill fast and he had two choices. Spill the beans, do some fast-talking to smooth things over, of lie outrageously until Kasuka either believed it, or knew better than to ask any more.

Evasive answers would do no harm, but he needed something with substance and his mind was going blank. Before he could speak, however, Kasuka interrupted his flow of thoughts with a pointed glare that told Shizuo that he had seen his blunder and would not believe a word he could say to cover himself up.

"Are you worried about being fat?" Kasuka asked in his dull voice, and Shizuo cringed at his bluntness.

"No, no. Of course not." Shizuo hurried to end the conversation, feeling a bit awkward at being interrogated by his younger brother, who sometimes seemed wiser than his years, and could read Shizuo better than he could read himself. "Why would you think that?"

"You said something about being flabby in the car ride the other day." Kasuka explained in his hushed tone. "You of all people do not need to worry over such petty things"

_I know, I know_ Shizuo wanted to agree. He wanted to whine and tell his brother all of the things that had been bothering him, occupying all corners of his brain and every moment of every day for a long time now. Kasuka wouldn't understand. No one would. No one does. Because everyone else is normal, and he's not. They've all been included in some secret circle, and he is on the outside looking in.

They don't know what it's like to have nothing in their control, to feel so helpless in the spinning world around them as to grab onto the first and only oportunity that arises. They don't know what it's like to have such little control. No self control.

But now, Shizuo would have self control. He could control himself in other ways, if not through his strength. He wanted to let his brother know how he could not let this go even though it was all lies and he should know better but he doesn't, and he should not believe them but sometimes he thinks he does.

He knew it was a bad habit to get into, he knew it was a waste of his time and he shouldn't let his cousin's words get to him because it made no sense and they both knew it, but his cousin, who Shizuo continued to look up to had said it.

Shizuo's starting to wonder if it was true although he stubbornly tells himself it isn't, but he can't help but think that maybe his cousin was right and he could see things that Shizuo himself had been oblivious to.

"It's nothing." Shizuo muttered with hooded eyes as his brother continued to grill him. "Is this about what you were doing this morning?"

Shizuo could see Kasuka nod out of the corner of his eye. Shizuo opened his mouth to defend himself along with his pride, but his words dried up in his throat and his inspiration ran dry. His younger brother took no heed to his speechlessness, regarding him with the cool, level eyes that he should not possess.

"It's just skin."

The blonde wonders how Kasuka could see it as just skin, when he saw it as too much _skin_, which could possibly be something else, which he needed to eliminate as soon as possible. And if his skin was there, it would still be there after his fasting, just thinner, catching on hipbones and accenting muscles. He would be leaner, it would look better.

He would not be able to pinch inches of it between his forefinger and thumb. It was just a trim. It could do no harm. Especially not to someone as indestructible as him. He's been hit by cars and survived; he could go a few days with less food.

Kasuka ended their conversation as they neared the bus stop and entered earshot, brushing past him briskly without a passing glance. His words floated in the air around them as his soft tones reach Shizuo's ears, although he had to strain to catch them.

"Just don't do anything stupid, brother."

* * *

Oh, how he wished he could have followed his brother's words. Oh, how he wished he had not been so foolish, maybe then things would have been different. But in retrospect, the circumstances that have led him to where he stood were precarious and unique and he wouldn't change a thing if he had that chance.

Nothing at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Shizuo was hungry. But he also had some good news.

Kasuka hadn't breathed a word of his secret. If Shizuo hadn't known is brother better, than he would have assumed that it slipped his mind. He did know his brother, however; and he could feel his curious eyes burning into his back no matter where he went.

He was hungry, his nails were jagged and brittle, his skin was gaunt and pasty, and days were longer. He couldn't say that he felt any better, but he wasn't one to stop something once he started it.

He would see his experiment through, and if he didn't like it, then he would put it behind him, never speak of it again, and go on with his life like it was nothing because it was.

* * *

Two weeks. It's been two weeks, and Shizuo is hungry. His hair was thinning and caught on his fingers in clumps when he ran his fingers through it, his skin was dry and flaky and rubbed sore were he agitated it, and Shizuo was cold.

It seemed that no matter how many sweatshirts he piled on, no matter how many times he paced and bundled up with blankets, the chill persisted. It nuzzled its way between muscles and bones, seeped into every pore, hung in the air around him until he was constantly covered in little goose bumps or whatever they were called.

And because he was cold, he was cranky. And because he was hungry, he was touchy and even more easily irritated than he had been in a long time. He can't concentrate at school or at home and no matter what he does, he's always thinking unhealthy thoughts of food.

All of the different kinds, flavors, mixing and matching and eating his way into next week where he'll surely be set back and have too fast for at least a month to undo all the fat he's surely packed on.

Some days, the churning hunger seems to sleep and putters down to a dull roar while he's crunching on celery because that burns more calories just chewing than it gives and he figures he can afford that if he lives off of celery and air-popped popcorn for a week or two.

And he'll be noisily chomp chomping away and feeling like a rabbit and wouldn't some peanut butter work well with this? But oh no, he can't do that. Shame on him and these traitorous thoughts. Has he forgotten his goal already? Has he forgotten about all of his progress?

No, of course not.

* * *

The first time it happened, Shizuo ignores it and takes it with a grain of salt.

Shizuo doesn't remember exactly what happened, but he knows he was mad, and he was hungry, and this idiot deserved a high-five to the head with a pole and he was just the guy for the job. So he marches over in a heated haze and plucks a nice looking stop sign from the ground and ignores the twinge in his arm that he hasn't quite gotten use too and hasn't felt in a long time.

He launches the projectile and watches his victim panic and shy out of the way and it's a good thing his aim wasn't as good as it should have been for if it was, then that guy's face would have been peeled off and melting on the pavement.

So he stops to admire and hate his work and as he prepares to chase that guy down and put him in his place there's a pounding behind his eyes and tumbling over his head in a rush of discomfort and pressure and his vision is swaying and fading in and out of focus.

He takes a step back to steady his self and reaches out for support that isn't there and he feels himself falling before light is there again and he's on his two feet where he belongs and someone is giving him grief for the destruction of public property and his brief faint feeling was there and gone again.

He should have known that it was a warning.

* * *

The second time it happens, Shizuo is at his the end of his rope.

Kasuka went out with his mother and his father is working and Shizuo's home alone and oh, god he's hungry. He feels the hunger eating up his insides and swelling in his gut and crawling around inside him, leaving him with nothing, no feelings, nothing except for hunger and that fact that he needs food.

He won't, he can't give in. No, he was strong, he could push past this. Strong, strong, strong. He repeats it in his head like a mantra along with all of the other things that he cannot change. He was better than this. He would make it.

Strong Strong Strong.

He can't take much more of this, oh no, he needs something. His stomach purrs and pushes him towards the kitchen but he's better than this. He can do it. He wants to curl into himself until he feels something besides this burning hunger but that's not happening because he doesn't know if he has the energy to move anymore.

Starvation makes his stomach feel like its going to cave in on itself, taking and taking and he has nothing left to give, it's chewing him up and spitting him out and leaving him to rot until he's _heartless,_ but he feels nothing now and it doesn't matter anyway.

Someone stuffs his head with cotton and the lights in the room are too bright and swimming and stinging and when oblivion sweeps him off his feet, he's ready to go, anything besides this.

He wants to die. He's heartless now and he doesn't care for anything anymore.

* * *

Shizuo is weak.

Shizuo is not strong. That is a lie. He is a liar.

His eyes are hollow purple and baggy and he feels like death. He is invisible at school and doesn't see much of Shinra anymore because he's hanging out with that Izaya-flea, that little smug parasite, the only thing that can spark feeling in him anymore.

He's a walking corpse and drags himself through the day and his only friend his hunger. He locks himself away in his room and doesn't come out for anything, and he hears his mother worrying to his father that maybe he's depressed and should go see a therapist.

But that is not why Shizuo is weak, Shizuo is weak because he broke and collapsed and couldn't take it anymore. It's another day with the house vacant except for him and he will not live another day with this hunger and he eats himself into a head spinning stupor with a swollen gut and guilt to last a lifetime.

He eats his way through the kitchen and takes things into his room and stuffs himself with all things until he's not tasting he's just eating, eating because he's weak and if anyone was to see him they would probably call him disgusting and a pig because that's what he was.

He eats in hopes that food will fill the emptiness inside him, but when that doesn't work, he regurgitates it all into the toilet bowl with a splatter. His fingers are coated with sour vomit and teeth marks and he's clutching the bowl with a death grip and it's a wonder he doesn't crush it.

His stomach heaves and he ducks his head and sends another meal to waste and he wonders if he goes at it long enough will he purge out all of his guilt too?

He's shaking and shivering and his face is bleached and his ears are ringing, but he shoves his hand to the back of his throat anyway, because he needs to make sure that he has gotten rid of it all.

He'll have to fast again soon and he doesn't want to go through it all again but he tells himself that he needs too, that it's for the better and someday he'll see the results and wonder why he didn't start sooner.

He doesn't stop until he's bringing up clear liquids, ones that scald his throat and taste sour and rot his teeth and clogs his nose. He brings his hand to cover his mouth and staunch the flow as he retches, swallowing the bitter mix down and flushing the toilet so he doesn't have to look at it anymore.

It disappears in a swirl of shame and it's all his fault.

And now his stomach is jerking violently as he struggles to keep his fluids in one place, he's miserable and a failure and on top of that he's heartless too and he doesn't know if he even has the will to change anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

He shouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning. It wasn't his first bad idea, and it certainly won't be his last.

Something had told him that he was on his last legs, if his game wasn't over yet, it certainly will be soon because he doesn't know if he can hang on anymore. His experiment is painfully drawing to a close. He's pushed his body too far.

What happens next?

It is the only coherent thought buzzing through his head these days. His train of thought seems to be locked in an internal battle of won't give up and can't give up. He runs on autopilot, he looks like a skeleton. He's taken it too far. This is too much.

It's not a surprise when he collapses, blood roaring in his ears and a gravitational pull tugging him to the ground, folding him up and stealing away his consciousness and not giving him enough time to think of anything at all.

The throbbing reverberates up his spine and ricochets insides his skull, battering his insides and turning everything to liquid. The sharp prickles jab behind his eyelids and everywhere in between. His mouth becomes dry and the air is thick as he gasps, stumbling as a haze overcomes his vision. He staggers a bit before his legs crumble beneath him.

His world becomes a blur of vertigo and sashaying colors that he traces with his eyes as he drops to the ground like a dead weight. He watches them swim across his vision as his eyelids unwillingly become warm and droop close. He should have known that this was coming. It was only a matter of time.

His mind doesn't recognize anything through the fog of numbness, not the pain that should be registering when his head hits the concrete nor the thin dribble of blood that was leaking into his eyes. The concrete is warm under his palms as he takes shallow breathes, his body rocking with shudders as he tries to harness his motor skills and pick himself up off the ground.

Hunger has become a stain in which he was, for wherever he roamed, hunger was his constant shadow. It stole away his nights and flawed his days with misery. It was the nausea bubbling and tying knots in his stomach as his silent please go unheard.

He knows he needs help; a bitter voice in his subconscious berates his peers and family for not reaching out to help him. Can't they see how far out of his control this has grown? Don't they care? He needs them now; can't they see what is happening to him?

His brittle, chipped nails serve witness as he gnaws on their roots tirelessly. His fatigued, bony body is exhausted and broken. He is heartless now, too far gone to care, to feel petty emotions like pain and rage and happiness…. No, now all there is is hunger. That is everything these days. There is nothing left; he is an empty shell much too far-gone for seemingly important things like contentment and health.

He misses a time when family and health was important to him. He wonders when they stopped becoming important and became words, names without faces. People he used to care about that are not the same faceless beings on the other side of his stoic wall. He wonders when he lost himself, when he lost control of his game.

He wonders who will put a stop to this, because all they seem to do is watch, but he can't feel anything now, and he wonders if he ever will. He's starting to forget who he was, why he stood so tall in the first place.

His heart is interwoven in an internal battle that rages inside, tearing him to pieces and sewing him up into a patchwork masterpiece tearing at the seams. He can't break free of what he subjected to his self, a selfish goal that stole away who he was in the face of what he could be.

And as a sense of weightlessness overtakes him, he wonders if this is what it feels like to die, consciousness stuttering and stalling, a crippling agony paralyzing his soul. Shadows loom over and he slips through the cracks of consciousness, briefly, foolishly hoping to wake up and see that it was only a dream and nothing was real.

Hoping that he could go back to a time where his only problem was the flea and his anger, and things like eating disorders were something that didn't happen to people like him because he was supposed to be untouchable. Things that he heard about in health class and shrugged off because he was supposed to be better than that, he was supposed to be confident in whom he was and no amount of pressure would change that.

He was supposed to be indestructible, invincible, and _what happened, where did it all go so wrong?_

All his insecurities were fleshed out and struggling in an intricate network that was his identity, trapped between two panes of his pitiful existence, those who would never understand and his own weakness that kept them oblivious.

He falls apart as a simple experiment runs his life and eats away at trivial things like pride and hope, things that used to have a meaning but now he thinks it doesn't matter. He doesn't need those attributes, they've never solved anything.

He's heartless now, that's all he can remember, that's all there ever will be. He doesn't want to wake up to hunger anymore.

There is nothing of him left, he is dead inside and he's forgotten how to feel, did he ever really know?

* * *

"Rise and shine Shizu-chan!"

Out of all the voices he had expected to hear, this was the last one. It grates against his ears and riles him, forgotten emotions stirring in the pit of his stomach, annoyance and anger. He is surprised that he can still label them. Out of all the people to find him, it had to be this one?

Was this karma sick way getting back at him for something evil he might have done in a past life? It wasn't as if he hadn't enough on his plate already, why must fate strike with vengeance when all he knows is that he needs a break?

He considers not opening his eyes and waiting until the damn flea got bored and left, but it seemed this wasn't going to be easy as a bony finger starts to dig into his ribcage, prodding him closer to the edge of awareness.

"Ne, wake up!" Izaya whines, Shizuo stubbornly ignores it, even as it persists dangerously close to his ear, invading his personal space.

He remembers a time when he might have wanted to reach up and slap away the face so close to his own, but the urge is non-existent as he is heartless now. He can't seem to find the energy to care anymore, much less do anything about it. He remembers a time when breathing the same air as the flea above him would repulse him; the mere mention of his name in passing was enough to set him off in a flurry of stop signs and anger.

He remembers a time when Izaya's name was taboo, and anyone who dared speak of it was asking for Shizuo's rage to put them in their place, or the hospital. Most likely both. It seemed foolish how such things had such an effect on him, and where his ever-present anger was now, mystifies him.

He has to remind himself to care, that these things were normal to feel, and please feel something _please._

There are icy fingers on his nose, cutting of his oxygen. He knows that this should be uncomfortable, but all he really thinks is that if he does nothing about it, who will let up first? Who will give up? Would he really suffocate? If Izaya wanted him dead than he could have killed him ten time over by now.

He doesn't want to die, per say, but he doesn't want to go one living with his aching hunger in his gut. He was suspended in an area, not peace, but still unfeeling. It made no difference to him, as long as it banished his pain he had no trouble with never waking up again.

He wondered when he stopped caring.

Inwardly he was blackened, charred remains of a raging inferno of anger that has died out without the blaze of glory. Faded and dead and leaving nothing but change in its wake. Nothing at all.

His face contorts with a scowl as his arm sluggishly swipes the hand away; he lets it drop on his emaciated ribcage, feeling his bumpy ribs under his fingers, protected by a thin veil of skin. He can feel his ribs protrude above his shrunken stomach, rising and falling slowly and hitched by his uneven breathing.

He peels his eyelids open lethargically, only to allow them to slide close as they were assaulted by a piercing white light. He squints as his face screws into mild irritation and pique, his mouth curling into a snarl as Izaya spoke up again.

"That's better. Now, I'm glad I found you, you see…." Izaya's tone never lost its playfulness, albeit it softened and darkened as he continued, though the change was so natural and effortless that Shizuo was almost afraid that he had imagined it. "I'm afraid we have much to discuss."

He spoke in a leisurely manner, as if this were a common occurrence. Bracing himself, Shizuo prepared to sit up and get a better view of the flea crouched before him. His vision was still swimming and his arms were quaking under his weight, but despite all of that, he almost made it on sheer will alone.

Almost, for at that moment his haze of disorientation cleared and all of his pain and hunger hit him at full force. He gave a muted gasp as his arms buckled underneath him and he fell back towards that ground, he trembled in his agony, groaning under his breath, wanting to curl into his self and wish it all away.

Wave after wave fell upon him and he blanched, attempting to take full breathes, each quick breath catching in his throat. His stomach felt like it was going to cave in on itself, and his quaking fingers sloppily clutched the grass.

Izaya hummed in amused at his attempt, Shizuo only scowled. He remembers when things like this used to annoy him, but those emotions are only fondly remembered thoughts because he's heartless now and doesn't care for anything anymore.

He loosens his grip on the grass. "You moved me?"

His memories are fuzzy, but he can remember hitting the asphalt, he hesitantly reaches up to confirm his suspicions. He can feel the thin stream of blood on his face, matting his hair from an unseen wound and trickling down the side of his face. He lowers his hand and stares at it through half lidded eyes with indifference; he shifts his gaze to Izaya as he speaks again.

"Well as much as I'd love to leave you bleeding on the pavement, I'm afraid this encounter is overdue. " The flea narrowed his eyes. "Wouldn't you agree? I mean, you hardly speak to anyone these days."

While it was the truth, Shizuo hadn't stopped to consider it. If his few friends had noticed, then they didn't confront him about it. They never showed any concern that they might have, or Shizuo just might be too thick and narrow-minded to see it. It was most likely the latter.

"You were surprisingly light." Izaya went on, "I dragged you here all by myself."

Shizuo remembered a time when a civilized conversation such as this was unheard of. He remembered a time when the thought of Izaya dragging him anywhere was degrading and humiliating and unheard of. He remembered a time when he might have cared about things like this, but times like those are faint and far away and he can't remember why he cared so much.

Izaya's tone is condescending and he sounds proud of his work, but Shizuo can hear it falter when he remains silent. Something tells him that this should make him happy, but he can't remember why because he's heartless now and doesn't care for anything anymore.

"Can I help you?" He grounds out.

Izaya blinked and seemed to consider the question. He mulled it over in his head before answering. "Yes. You can start eating again and react the way you're supposed to. That would help me." He nods, as if affirming a fact. "Yes, that will help excite my boring life."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I know!" Izaya's smirk grew, "I was surprised to! I never would have pegged you as an anorexic."

He considers telling Izaya that he's heartless now and doesn't feel emotions like surprise or anything at all, so it's no use trying to connect to him like he thinks he understands. But then he realizes that's exactly it- Izaya doesn't understand, never has and never will and that's part of the reason he's supposed to hate him so much. He used to be able to summon his anger at a moment's notice but now he's devoid of everything because this hunger has stolen it all away.

This hunger has taken everything, he is nothing now. It's taken everything he had, everything he's thought he had all this time. It's eating away at him like a sleeping cancer and now he's nothing but a walking corpse with nothing left but his name and he's not sure if he even has that anymore. He's nothing like who he was months ago. He's a changed man.

"Get out of here." He growls, trying to summon a shred of threat of malice to seem intimidating, but he's not fooling anyone, certainly not himself.

Izaya ignored him. "And what were you expecting to happen? Did you want someone to care? Attention? Is this your pathetic attempt at a silent cry for help?"

"No…" he tries, but he can't help but think about it. If there was ever a time, a back when he had emotions and a mind that could think for itself instead of running on auto-pilot, that he would have wanted to get rid of his strength and anger that caused nothing but destruction and pain…

Then this has certainly helped his cause, for now he was hollow and heartless and can't seem to find the energy to care for anything anymore, much less be angry about it. He supposed that's just what it was, this hunger, eating him alive and taking it all so he finds that he doesn't care anymore. He doesn't care about friends or grades or family or anything else that used to have a meaning.

He doesn't care about what people think or who might care or if anyone cares at all. He doesn't care about what he looks like or what he feels because he's heartless now and doesn't care for anything anymore. He doesn't care who might want to help him or who might notice and-

_That's the most selfish thing you could do._

That's what it seemed, that he was only in it for himself, this experiment has taken all of him and ripped him from reality and stole him- the real him, the one that wants to be remembered.

A sudden blaze of hate erupts within him, flooding through his veins and making him feel _alive_ oh, how he's missed it. He speaks through gritted teeth, no longer caring that it was Izaya he was speaking to, just as long as someone would finally listen, listen and hear that he doesn't want this but what can he do?

"They" he hisses, and his vehemently colored voice surprises even him, "They don't care, never did, not about me, and I don't care for anything anymore. They don't care what happens to me, and they don't need to, I'm in this _alone_ Izaya, it's always been this way."

He glares and it's violent and suddenly he wants to _kill_ something. "How could they be so blind?" He snarls, "How could they let this happen to me? How could they let it go so far without doing something?"

He grits his teeth, wanting to push and pull and break so badly that his shoulders are trembling and he can't hold it- can't contain this rage, until he does something that surprises himself and his audience, he breathes. Deeply, in and out until his hunched shoulders are loose and he lets go of it, all of it. His eyes are blank and he's heartless once more, Old Shizuo has gone back into hiding.

"No, I suppose I don't deserve their concern. I've always been a burden." He shifts his apathetic gaze to Izaya. "I don't expect you to listen, I don't even know why you're here-"

"I think I know," Izaya interrupts, devilish mahogany eyes narrowing and a twisted smirk on his lips. "I think you're just so relieved to finally get an offer for help, from anyone, you don't even care that it's me. And you're so, so," He fishes around for a word.

"Overwhelmed, by the fact that someone's here to listen, that you don't know what to do. I think you're frustrated, Shizu-chan, at yourself for letting it go so far, not being strong enough to stop it, at your family, because their supposed to help you and prevent you from getting to this state, and at your friends, for not interfering when they should know that something is wrong and still they do nothing."

He nods, satisfied with his words. "Am I right?"

Shizuo gets the notion that Izaya already knows that without a doubt, he's right, and there's nothing either of them can say to change that. Shizuo wonders when he became so easy to read, so easy to understand inside and out when he thought his motives were complex and mysterious.

He doesn't know how to feel- relieved, as Izaya said, because someone finally understands, and- and- he doesn't know, because then again, that person is then _flea._

"I think," he murmurs through his wall of apathy, "I think that's the smartest thing I've ever heard you say."

He doesn't give a clear answer, they both don't need one, they both already know. Looking back, that simple statement was an answer all by itself. A silent Y_es, thank you._

Izaya only smiles.


End file.
